Loose Words

Words lodge in my teeth. My dental hygienist has actually extracted a few. They hang like bats from the roof of my mouth. Their sub-sonic squeaks jiggle my epiglottis like a witch doctors rattle. My optometrist wears her glasses like lingerie low on the bridge of her nose. She fishes into my eyes. Her searching a shadow-dance on back of my skull. Once her bright penlight stumbled over a word she had never heard before. Immediately, my brain put on thick rubber goggles, I looked back at her like a deep sea fish, caught unawares.